


30 shades of Holmescest

by RoughTweedAction (Donya)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 30 Day OTP Porn Challenge, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex, Sibling Incest, holmescest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2018-11-07 16:06:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 8,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11062425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donya/pseuds/RoughTweedAction
Summary: Holmescest and the 30 days otp porn challenge. Mostly bottom Sherlock and more or less dominating Mycroft.





	1. Cuddles (naked)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Between the Blind Baker and the Great Game, Sherlock pays Mycroft a late-night visit.

Sherlock fingered the key in his pocket nervously. The key to Mycroft's house that he received years prior and never used. That night, however, he retrieved it from the desk drawer and shoved into his coat pocket on his way out of the flat. What pushed him to such extremes was the return of Sarah Sawyer. After the adventurous first date with John and Sherlock and the Black Lotus, she was back. Not scared away by the danger that seemed to surround John and his weird friend, she could be the person who would permanently distract John from his obligations as Sherlock's best friend. Friends come and go, he thought watching John and Sarah walking down the stairs. But there was one person who would never abandon him, whose duty it was to look after him even though he was an adult. His brother.

It came as a surprise that Mycroft did not wait for him, didn't sense that his company was suddenly desired. He was already in bed, sleeping soundly. Sherlock stood by the bedroom door, uncertain. He still wanted attention and reassurance that he was loved, and it couldn't wait until morning. Mycroft was sprawled on his back, features softened, chest rising and falling slowly. There was enough space in the bed for Sherlock. On an impulse, he took off his coat and shoes, thinking that he would leave the rest on, but it was so warm in the bedroom. Besides, sleeping in the nude was the healthiest option.

He slid under the covers carefully enough not to disturb his brother. He lay on his side, facing Mycroft. He wouldn't admit it, but he was grateful for his older sibling. Despite all of his flaws and his extraordinary ability to nettle Sherlock without using words, Mycroft was a constant source of comfort. Always there for him, regardless of what he had done to burn the bridge between them. Sherlock was sure Mycroft would never disown him. Also, Mycroft's solitary lifestyle meant there would never be a significant other more important than his brother.

Satisfied with that thought, Sherlock turned onto his other side and closed his eyes. He was close to falling asleep when Mycroft moved, shifted closer to him. Sherlock's eyes flew open when he felt the touch of Mycroft's skin against his back. He wasn't the only person who boycotted nightwear, apparently. He stared into the darkness, eyes huge in disbelief and confusion.

'Mycroft,' he whispered. 'Mycroft, it's me, Sherlock.' 

The clarification seemed necessary. Mycroft spooned him, sighing contentedly and wrapped his arm around Sherlock's chest. To his absolute surprise, Sherlock did not find the unexpected intimacy unpleasant. He made no effort to squirm away from Mycroft's warm, bulky body. After a moment of lying completely still, Sherlock leant back against Mycroft's chest. That was nice. Cosy. Comforting.

'Sherlock,' Mycroft muttered, his breath hot against the nape of Sherlock's neck. A shiver ran down his spine. A tingling sensation wasn't limited to his back.

'Yes, it's me, your brother,' Sherlock reminded desperately. But it was too late. The closeness, the hand on his chest and Mycroft's lips so close to his neck, Sherlock bit his lip as all of that resulted in a growing erection.

He was convinced such urges were a thing of the past. Like the summer when he was fifteen and Mycroft came home for a couple of days. Still chubby, still so boring and overprotective and disapproving. Sherlock could not understand why Mycroft's natural interest in his life made him flush with embarrassing warmth. The question about a girlfriend or a boyfriend was to be expected, but his almost hysterically defensive response was not. A hand on his shoulder, an affectionate smile, swimming together and seeing Mycroft almost naked, Sherlock could not stop staring, sweating and blushing. The freckles, the broad back, even the soft curve of the stomach, he wanted to look away, but he kept watching and his eyes focused on the tempting area that Mycroft kept covered. _Your brother_ , he told himself and his misbehaving, hard prick. Brother. His usually neglected, starved for attention cock did not listen then and certainly ignored Sherlock's wishes now.

Mycroft nuzzled his neck and finally rested his forehead against his shoulder. Sherlock lay wide awake, conflicting emotions and the arousal were bound to keep him up all night.


	2. Kiss (naked)

Mycroft woke at dawn, feeling unusually happy. He didn't even have time to think it was a result of a particularly pleasant dream, a warm, relaxed body in front of him was definitely real. He hesitated, palmed the other person's bony chest. The tickling that woke him was caused by the curly hair right against his face. He opened his eyes, raised his head and saw Sherlock. Nude and sleeping and peaceful. Mycroft stared at him, bewildered. Was it still a dream, a strangely realistic one? He pinched his forearm, twice to be absolutely sure and lay back, amazed.

He remembered a dream he had earlier that night, about his brother saying his name and cuddling with him. Clearly, that was not a dream either. He wondered what had possessed Sherlock to share a bed with him. The nudity was easily explained, Sherlock did not plan to drop by and stay the night and couldn't have known that Mycroft wore pyjamas only when he was a guest.

There was more than one problem with that sudden surge of brotherly feelings. Mycroft woke up hard, the lack of any barrier between his groin and Sherlock's buttocks had striking results. A part of Mycroft that he usually controlled now wanted to do the only reasonable thing and rub against Sherlock's hips. Slide between his cheeks, between his closed thighs and for once not waste the morning erection.

Terrified and aroused by his thoughts, Mycroft cautiously disentangled their legs, removed his hand and rolled onto his back. He was considering sneaking out into the bathroom to take care of his rock hard cock that was deaf to his orders to stay down, but then Sherlock stirred. Mycroft felt like he was caught red-handed and pulled the duvet up to his chin.

'What,' Sherlock mumbled, not sure where he was and how he got there. He shifted onto his belly and looked at Mycroft. The room was half-dark and Mycroft hoped his flushed cheeks would go unnoticed.

'Good morning,' he said to distract Sherlock. He observed him, watched as he remembered what had happened. To his shock, Sherlock did not get up to return to John nor did he resume their usual bickering. He stayed silent, seemed to be weighing up his options. Mycroft was prepared for everything, from _do not tell anybody about this, I wasn't feeling lonely, nobody would believe you anyway_ to _scrambled eggs and two pieces of buttered toast, now._  He was not prepared for Sherlock getting closer to him and the shy, soft touch of his lips.

It lasted no more than two seconds. Sherlock pulled away, startled by his boldness. I'm sorry,' he said, but something in his voice suggested that his being sorry depended entirely on Mycroft's reaction. He was still quite close to Mycroft, the uncertainty in his eyes and hope affected Mycroft almost a much as their first kiss. He had been thinking about this, wondering how it would feel to kiss Sherlock, embrace him and feel his body quiver in his arms. All the obstacles became meaningless when Sherlock made the first move. Did he feel the same, unstoppable attraction to his own brother? Was he tormented by the object of his affection being within his reach but forbidden because they were related?

Mycroft meant to explain in the most boring and unattractive manner that they could not risk crossing this line and push Sherlock away for his own safety. Instead, he cupped Sherlock's cheek, brushed his thumb over his bottom lip. Sherlock instantly leant into the touch, kissed Mycroft's thumb and looked only a bit embarrassed by it.

'I thought only I was-'

'So did I.'

'Since when?'

'Summer 1989, do you remember? Constant sexual frustration.'

Mycroft smiled widely. 'I suspected idiopathic craniofacial erythema, how foolish of me.'

Sherlock smiled back. Mycroft propped himself up on one elbow and had a sincere intention to make the kiss brief and chaste. But they had been waiting for so long, long enough to know exactly what to do when the opportunity presented itself. Sherlock lacked experience and relied on his instinct. He parted his lips, tilted his head for better access and gasped in surprise when Mycroft's tongue slid in and explored the inside of his mouth. After a moment of analysing the sensations, Sherlock returned the kiss as best he could. His teeth found Mycroft's lip and his hands cradled the back of his head. As thrilling as it was, they had to stop. Sherlock was on his back now, pulled Mycroft over him, his lips were on Mycroft's neck and their cocks touched for the first time. The countless arguments against falling head first into the abyss evaporated from Mycroft's mind. Sherlock wanted him, he wasn't alone with his incestuous cravings and nothing else mattered.


	3. First time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, sorry I abandoned this fic. In my defence, it was a bad idea to start it in July. January is a much better month for writing. I promise I'll not give up this time.

Sherlock had never felt more exposed. On his elbows and knees, unable to see what Mycroft was doing behind his back. There was no need to look, though, he felt it all. Slick fingers spreading him for what was to come, legs close to his, occasional brush of a hot hardness against his inner thigh, a soothing hand running over his arse.

The position was Mycroft's idea. Sherlock's initial anxiety faded away when Mycroft confessed he used to be on the receiving end and knew how to make the initiation at least bearable. Apart from praising Sherlock's efforts even when he unintentionally pulled away a couple of times and using the right amount of good-quality lubricant, Mycroft intended to take Sherlock from behind. The privacy the position provided was welcome, signs of discomfort would be easily concealed and perhaps most importantly, the lower his chest was going to be, the less resistance his body would offer. Sherlock agreed it was the best option, he didn't need the intimacy of the face-to-face contact. At least not yet.

Mycroft withdrew his fingers and shifted closer. Sherlock closed his eyes and rested his forehead on his folded arms. He was on full display for his brother, opened up and ready. Against reason, he held his breath and tensed when he felt a touch then pressure against his opening. Repeating the same instructions seemed less logical than simply pushing in and Sherlock appreciated Mycroft's choice.

The burning stretch was difficult to endure. Mycroft stopped from time to time, giving him time to adjust and take a shaky breath, then continued, inch by inch. The sensation of being filled was foreign and did not compare to fingers. Sherlock felt invaded, split open, taken. He couldn't think, he dug his fingernails into the pillow to fight the impulse to flee. The pressure, the deep ache that spread towards his spine and hands on his hips holding him in place, those were the only things he was aware of. After what seemed like an eternity, Mycroft's hips were right against his. He was full.

Mycroft paused again, stroked Sherlock's sides, his lower back and reached down to his tousled hair. 'You're doing so well, Sherlock. Do try to relax, let yourself enjoy this.' His voice was calming, as much as the palm of his hand smoothing Sherlock's curls. 'It's natural to feel overwhelmed, trust me. Tears and sobs are understandable in your position, you don't have to keep quiet, I won't take this the wrong way.'

Sherlock raised his head from the damp pillow and stopped biting his lip. He didn't realise he was crying until Mycroft mentioned it. The last thing Sherlock wanted was to end it then, right after the most painful part and before the elation he expected. He tried to tell that to Mycroft, but his voice failed him.

'Shh,' Mycroft leant over his back, sliding deeper into him. 'Don't bother yourself with thinking. The only thing you are expected to do now is to take it. Can you do that?'

Sherlock nodded and lay down again. His grabbed fistfuls of the pillow and tried to somehow get more comfortable around Mycroft's shaft. Breathing helped, widening his stance as well. He instinctively arched his back even more, allowing Mycroft easy access.

Mycroft didn't need more prompting. He started a slow, easy rhythm of shallow thrusts. Sherlock thought he didn't want to be coddled, but it helped. He could feel the tension leaving him, replaced with something new and exciting. The pain of penetration didn't disappear entirely, it stayed to intensify the first sparks of pleasure. Sherlock had never experienced anything like this, Mycroft moved again and this time definitely discovered a very special bundle of nerve endings. Sherlock's pained groans and little whines changed into surprised gasps and obscenely loud moans. He lost control over his mouth, he could only hope that Mycroft didn't mind the enthusiastic noise he produced.

'Come whenever you want.' Sherlock loved how rough his voice sounded now.

He didn't think a satisfying completion was possible without more familiar stimulation. He had barely recovered from the shock of the intrusion and pleasure wasn't as easy and straightforward as when he simply touched his cock. Every time Mycroft sank in deeper, thrust in harder, he responded with a scream. In the end, it wasn't the physical pleasure that pushed him over the edge. The thrilling knowledge that he allowed this to happen, that he wanted his brother to do this to him, was intoxicating. Mycroft's voice, his harsh breaths and his hands preventing Sherlock from moving, his legs keeping Sherlock's open. He was helpless, couldn't stop it. He was only dimly aware of the embarrassingly loud cry he released, distracted by a blindingly intense orgasm. He misread the signs of its rapid approach and couldn't analyse the pleasurable sensation as it flooded his body, wave after wave.

He was still trying to catch a breath and start thinking again when Mycroft climaxed as well. Inside him. It was what they agreed on and at the time Sherlock thought he liked the idea, but the splash of ejaculate had him wince and shift away from Mycroft. He felt absolutely filthy, sticky and used, and couldn't wait for the next time.


	4. Masturbation

Sherlock stayed with Mycroft that night. Not to ask for affectionate endearments and reassurance, not even to relive their first time. It was a sheer coincidence that he received all of the above. He let Mycroft tell him how wonderful he was and allowed some cuddling.

He slipped in and out of feverish dreams, anxious the previous night was only a fantasy. He woke tired and groggy, only after a moment did he notice a hand on his belly and felt a presence behind him. Mycroft was still sleeping. Sherlock relaxed, pleased with his choice to stay there. No one stormed into his bedroom offering tea or telling him to make it, he could close his eyes and remember what had happened the day before.

His cock was more awake than his mind. He didn't notice it was leaking at first, too caught up in the scorchingly hot memories. It would be cruel to wake Mycroft up just to make him do what could be achieved without company. Sherlock slid a hand under the duvet, let it travel south, down his chest and stomach. His fingertips brushed the sensitive flesh, the swollen head and the moist slit. He wasn't in the mood for waiting and teasing, he gripped his length firmly and began rocking his hips.

It felt great, the friction, the familiar feeling of giving in to his impulses, but... It wasn't as intense and mind-blowing as anal sex. Sounds of pleasure were easily contained, the orgasm hit him without fanfare and was over in seconds. There was no lingering warmth or noticeable aftershocks. No one was holding him in place or controlling him. 

He thought of all those times when he wished it was Mycroft's hand. Nights when he was dangerously close to leaving his bed and sneaking into Mycroft's. He remembered the desperate need to at least look at him. They wouldn't need to touch at all, he would think, his hand moving faster. Such thoughts, fortunately, would make him orgasm before he made a decision to knock on his brother's door.

The days of sexual tension and frustration were over now. There was no need to fantasise about what Mycroft would do. Sherlock wiped his hand on the already ruined sheet and turned around to face his sleeping brother. 'Wake up.'


	5. Blow job

Sherlock made a new list. A rather long one, containing various fantasies he wanted to fulfil. Receiving oral sex was quite high on the list. Giving it, however, was something he wasn't too thrilled about. It wasn't the physical discomfort that was stopping him; having stuck different objects into his mouth without choking, he was confident about his ability to control his gag reflex. What discouraged him from dropping to his knees before Mycroft was the unsurprising realisation that it wouldn't be all about him. Pleasure would be Mycroft's. If Sherlock got hard, he would have to wait for his turn. He didn't like that thought. He thought he didn't like it.

He quickly crossed blowjob off his list. Mycroft indulged him with teasing licks and gentle sucking. Sherlock was shivering and panting, amazed by the ripples of pleasure and the view. Mycroft let him hold his head and thrust into his mouth. He was spoiling him rotten. Sherlock barely controlled himself, all he wanted was to push deeper and deeper. He came shockingly fast, slightly disappointed it ended so quickly.

Mycroft made it look simple. There was no nervous chuckling or gagging, he swallowed Sherlock's release with enviable ease He didn't even wrinkle his clothes. Sherlock felt he had been issued a challenge. Nothing was as motivating as sibling rivalry.

He thought he knew what to expect. He was prepared for feeling awkward and uncomfortable. But when he sank to his knees, between Mycroft's thighs, he surprisingly excited. He wrapped his hand around the base and lowered his head until there was no distance between his lips and Mycroft's cock. Oddly enough. he didn't need practical advice, he followed his instincts.

He sucked the tp lightly, dragged his tongue across it until he tasted precome. Then he pulled back, partly to admire the first results of his work. He nuzzled the shaft, left a trail of wet kisses on one side of it. He used his hand to gently pump it. Ater a few moments of his thorough exploration, there was nothing else left to do but lean forward with his mouth open.

The feeling of the wet length sliding between his lips was... new. Not as strange as he thought. He didn't have time to contemplate the taste and texture, Mycroft for sure was getting impatient. Sherlock pressed his tongue against the underside of his cock and started sucking again. Mycroft hummed his approval. Sherlock moved back a bit and sunk down again, then again, each time taking more of it. Soft gasps and moans he heard indicated he was on the right course.

Mycroft cupped his cheek. He brushed his thumb across it, Sherlock realised he could feel his hardness there. That distracted him and he lost his rhythm. Mycroft was eager to help him. He put his hand on the back of Sherlock's head and slowly pushed him down. Sherlock knew it was going to happen. He didn't know it would make him moan. Mycroft was guiding him. Controlling him. He made a strangled noise, caught off guard by a wave of arousal.

He whimpered when his mouth was filled completely. Mycroft's grip was strong, he held him there a moment longer. Sherlock tried to relax, but his jaw ached, a trickle of saliva was trickling down his chin and he was getting tired. The wet noise and his groans sounded obscene. It was getting harder to breathe and mind his teeth. 

His struggle excited Mycroft. He whined when Mycroft suddenly grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled him off. He wanted to protest, confident he could swallow, but it was too late. He felt the first spurt of Mycroft's release on his reddened face. He obediently stayed still until Mycroft finished.

Mycroft let go of him and leant back in his chair, panting heavily. 'Good boy,' he chuckled, pleased with Sherlock. 'Fast learner.'

Sherlock smiled, satisfied. As inexperienced as he was, he left Mycroft breathless. 


	6. Clothes getting off

Guessing who he was going to see in Buckingham Place wasn't too difficult. Sherlock clutched the sheet in both hands, having refused to get dressed. Mycroft was going to be sorry for dragging him away from such a fascinating case. Also, playing the role of the misbehaving, obstinate little brother of Mycroft Holmes was part of the plan to avoid exposure. The undefined conflict between them, constant bickering and washing dirty linen in public were supposed to help them hide the true nature of their relationship. 

It only got better when John joined him. A bit of jealousy to keep Mycroft interested, perfect. Juvenile jokes and giggling complemented his ridiculous attire and Mycroft's annoyance seemed honest.

John didn't notice Sherlock's quick glance to Mycroft's bottom as he leant down to pick up his folded clothes.

'Sherlock Holmes, put your trousers on,' Mycroft was still fairly calm, so Sherlock responded in the most infantile manner. 'What for?'

Two could play that game and Mycroft seized to opportunity to express his discontentment with his brother's manners. Sherlock refused to take the case, hoping Mycroft would persuade him somehow. He did. He stepped on the edge of the sheet, forcing Sherlock to bent awkwardly to protect his modesty. That was... exciting, but showing how much he liked seeing his brother naked was against Mycroft's own rules. He quickly recovered and used the big brothers' voice to scold Sherlock in a thoroughly unsexual manner. To strengthen that impression, Mycroft later informed everyone present that Sherlock was still a virgin. That would surely prevent any gossip.

 

The adventurous encounter with the Woman and her riding crop sparked more jealousy in Mycroft. Sherlock found himself once again wearing his questionable nightwear, this time in Mycroft's house. There was no need to feign disinterest there, no one would hear Sherlock's encouragements or see his half-hearted efforts to untangle himself from the abnormally large sheet.

Mycroft liked watching him twist and turn. He held two sides of the sheet with one hand to keep Sherlock trapped and lifted the edge of the material just enough to bare Sherlock's arse. Knowing what as about to happen did not lessen the surprise. Mycroft thrust into him, harder than ever before, and set a harsh rhythm straight away. Sherlock couldn't squirm away, couldn't escape, helpless in the cotton cocoon, fucked by his brother.

'You are changing this disgusting text alert as soon as I'm done with you;' Mycroft growled. 'Am I making myself clear?'

Sherlock didn't make a promise he wasn't going to keep. He couldn't think. Mycroft was relentless. Possessive. Sherlock didn't know what turned him on more.  

He kept Irene's moaning text alert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This should've been striptease, but I can't compete with the TAB BTS clip.


	7. Half-dressed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Half-dressed is here: half of otp dressed.

Nothing could prepare Sherlock for what he experienced in Baskerville. The case seemed so straightforward at first, the worst he expected was a tedious journey and bland food. When he thought he saw the hound, he was terrified. All of a sudden, he couldn't trust his senses. One thing he could always rely on was no longer helpful. Facing his biggest fear, the virus in the data and watching Frankland die in a violent manner right in front of him made him regret accepting Henry's case. He was shaking uncontrollably, even when was already back in The Cross Keys. The company of John and Greg, who was or wasn't sent there by Mycroft, was comforting, but it was something else that helped Sherlock push away dark thoughts.

When he called Mycroft to have him pull some strings with Major Barrymore, he heard it would cost him one sexual favour. He agreed, without a moment of hesitation. Mycroft didn't specify what he wanted and not knowing, for once, was delightful. Sherlock wondered what it'd be. Something perverse, he hoped. Outrageous. Maybe a bit humiliating. Painful. Bondage. He imagined Mycroft tying a rough rope around his wrists and ankles, creating elaborate net around his torso. He would be completely defenceless, tied up and immobilised. Orgasm denial. Public sex. The possibilities were endless.

Once in London, Sherlock spent in his flat only enough time to take a quick shower and get dressed. As instructed, he texted Mycroft. _My office_ was the reply. Sherlock gasped, pleasantly surprised. He didn't expect that. Mycroft was adamant that no one could even suspect what was happening between them. Sherlock thought it meant: sex only in Mycroft's bedroom, where no one could hear them. Maybe Mycroft was waiting for him with a gag.

 

'Close the door,' Mycroft said and set aside documents he was browsing.

Sherlock looked around. Nothing out of ordinary. Nothing that could be considered a sex aid. The desk was littered with folders, that meant desk sex was not going to happen.

Mycroft leant back and for a moment, only looked at his brother. 'I think I want to see you naked,' he confessed. 'Undress, please.'

Sherlock's jaw dropped. The door was unlocked. Anyone could come in. He hesitated, tried to say something, but eventually took his coat off and dropped it to the floor. He checked Mycroft's reaction and the frown on his face was very telling. Sherlock picked the coat up and hung it on the back of the chair. Mycroft approved. Sherlock started from the top, his jacket, then his shirt and slacks, all nicely folded. He felt ridiculous and self-conscious when he neatly arranged his shoes and socks under the chair. He was completely naked and Mycroft still only watched him.

Sherlock stood up, hands by his sides. His cheeks suddenly flushed. He didn't think he was embarrassed, he wasn't unsatisfied with his body, but Mycroft was staring at him with just a hint of a smile on his face. Sherlock licked his lips and considered countless ways of ending that meeting. Including walking out of the office and leaving his clothes behind. Mycroft sensed his impatience and finally moved.

Sherlock stayed still and silent. Mycroft came up to him without breaking the eye contact. His hand brushed against Sherlock's side as he circled Sherlock and finally stopped directly behind him. It was hard not to look over his shoulder. Mycroft was quiet, there was no rustle of clothes, nothing was taken out of his pockets. Sherlock expected a vibrating plug, something he could wear in public, without anyone knowing. He felt a shiver running down his spine when Mycroft touched him. Hands on his hips, a soft caress that quickly turned into a hard grip. Mycroft moved forward, pressing against Sherlock's arse and back. His right hand travelled up his side and across his chest to keep him in place. Sherlock gasped, taken by surprise and didn't stumble forward only because Mycroft was holding him. He didn't know what to do with his hands, distracted by a warm hardness pressing between his cheeks. He tried to grind against it, but Mycroft stopped him.

'How was sharing a room with John?' Mycroft's voice was cold. 'How did you sleep?'

Sherlock was glad Mycroft couldn't see his satisfied smirk. He knew Mycroft was going to be jealous. Lestrade must have told him there weren't any double rooms available and it'd be so easy to imagine what could happen late at night, in the dark, away from London and their real lives. The truth was they weren't anywhere close to crossing that line.

'Did you send Lestrade to make sure we weren't sharing a bed?' Sherlock couldn't stop himself. 'Did you told him _why_ you're so possessive?'

Mycroft chuckled, unamused. 'You're so worried you'd lose your loyal DI Puppy. Would he still want to work with you, hmm? No, I didn't send him to spy on you and no, I'd never let him think we're more than brothers.'

'I didn't sleep with John,' Sherlock assured him. 'I tested our friendship in other ways.'

Mycroft believed him. He rocked his hips a little, letting Sherlock feel him. The barrier of his clothes was annoying. Sherlock was losing hope for a delightful quick shag in the office. Mycroft wouldn't want to wrinkle his suit and suspicious white stains would be hard to explain. And yet Mycroft didn't let go of him and started stroking his hip, his thigh, his neck. He could touch him anywhere he wanted and Sherlock wasn't going to protest. His cock jumped when Mycroft's fingers reached down, between his thighs. Mycroft was frustratingly careful not to make any contact with Sherlock's genitals, instead, he dug his fingers into his inner thigh. Sherlock let out an exaggerated cry, although the pain and the thought of future bruises only fueled his arousal.

'Touch yourself,' Mycroft instructed. He was tracing the line of Sherlock's jaw with his fingertips, causing Sherlock to tilt his head back.

Sherlock didn't need to be told twice. He closed his hand around the base and set a fast pace, biting his lip to stay quiet. Mycroft seemed oddly unbothered by his lack of finesse and let Sherlock fist his cock as he pleased. Sherlock was moving his hand furiously and rubbing against Mycroft's crotch, so focused on the task at hand that he didn't think of the unavoidable mess that Mycroft would surely not tolerate in his office. Slow, warm kissed on his neck and shoulder combined with his own efforts proved to be very effective, he sped up, wanting nothing more than to come.

'Stop,' Mycroft said all of a sudden. The tone of his voice told Sherlock it was best not to argue or pretend he didn't hear it. But he was so close, his hand continued moving on its own accord. Just a little bit more, he thought desperately.

'I said stop,' Mycroft repeated, deceptively calmly.

Sherlock had an honest intention to obey him, but he also remembered he was naked in his brother's office. One more stroke, only one. And another one. Mycroft held him tightly, cross and hard. There would be consequences for his misbehaviour. Spanking. He hoped it was going to be spanking. What else did he have to do to have his arse spanked? Just in case, he made sure to loudly announce his orgasm when it finally hit him. Mycroft's palm pressed to his mouth made it only better.

He barely finished when Mycroft grabbed him by the hair and forced him to kneel in front of his now dirty desk. Though Mycroft's intention was clear, Sherlock stubbornly waited for a verbal command. There wasn't one. Mycroft guided his head down, to the hard surface and the white fluid staining it. Sherlock considered his options and decided not to push his luck. He stuck his tongue out and dutifully licked the desk clean. Only then did Mycroft spoke. 'Did you enjoy it?'

Sherlock laughed lightly and wiped his mouth. 'Yes.'


	8. Skype sex

Sherlock was cursing himself silently the entire journey to Pakistan. He just couldn't let Irene win, could he, had to deduce her passcode and make her defenceless. The difficulty of travelling from London to Karachi without attracting his brother's attention was a suitable punishment for letting his emotions take charge in a stressful situation.

The Woman wanted to express her gratitude for his efforts by sleeping with him. He declined the offer, trying to appear flustered and alarmed by the very idea of having sex with anyone, like a true virgin. He had fooled her in London, but in Karachi, when the game they played was over, she was no longer distracted and noticed straight away that he was not a virgin.

'Oh, please tell me it was Jim Moriarty,' she smiled, delighted with the news.

'Don't be ridiculous.'

'Your flatmate, then.'

Sherlock nodded slowly, feeling awful. Mycroft was already going to be furious with him for that trip, exposing their secret to the Woman would get him in real trouble. The kind of trouble that wouldn't end with a playful spanking session. 

'I think the safest option is to transport you to India, I trust you'll take care of yourself there. Officially, I'm in Belarus and have to get there as soon as possible, which means we can't stay the night there,' he said just a bit too fast and a tad too loud. The Woman narrowed her eyes and gave him a long, inquisitive look, but chose not to speak, wisely.

 

He didn't plan to stay in Minsk longer than one day and a half, the case that led him there was a waste of time, but a very useful cover for his secret rescue mission. There were other advantages of visiting Belarus. Draniki, pyzy, lazanki, zrazy, the concoction called kvass and the opportunity to try skype sex with Mycroft. A nice orgasm would stop Mycroft from asking too many questions about his whereabouts and the inconsistencies about them.

There was no need to check into a hotel, Sherlock had taken care of it in advance. One member of his Homeless Network won a free trip to Minsk. Sherlock rang him and they switched places, the false Sherlock accepted the payment and decided not to return to England just yet.

Mycroft was still in his office. Sherlock smiled at the monitor to appear innocent, which only made Mycroft narrow his gaze. 'Why didn't you answer your phone? I was so worried.'

'Too much kvass, I lost the track of time,' Sherlock said and used that very moment to adjust the monitor. The fact that for a couple of seconds his face as invisible to Mycroft was a coincidence. 'I busy with the case,' he replied finally, quite truthfully.

Mycroft wasn't convinced but looked willing to postpone the interrogation and focus on more pleasurable activities. Sherlock made sure to spread his legs just minutely and let Mycroft see how excited he was by the idea of putting on a show for him. It didn't matter that Mycroft was completely dressed and gave no indication that he was going to let Sherlock see any other part of his body apart from his face.

'How do you want me?'

'On your back. Touch yourself, slow.'

Sherlock followed the instructions with a smile. He stretched on his back, squeezed a dollop of the lube onto his palm and began stroking his half-hard cock, just like Mycroft wanted, unhurriedly. All the way from the base to the head, finishing each stroke with a flick of his hand. For Mycroft's viewing pleasure, he arched his back off the bed, opened his mouth in a soundless moan and rocked his hips into his fist as languidly as he could.

'I wish you were here,' he is voice was heavy with arousal and longing. He looked at the screen and noticed Mycroft was moving his hand but the desk obscured the view. 'Let me see.'

'No. Don't speed up, keep the pace steady. Don't come until I say you can,' Mycroft was definitely getting breathless.

Sherlock was glad his only slightly exaggerated whines had such a strong effect on Mycroft. He was going to finish into his hand, under his desk. If only Sherlock could be there to lick his hand clean. The idea made him quicken his movements and Mycroft reminded him to slow down.

Sherlock glanced at the screen. Mycroft disappeared. He returned after a moment to inform him that he had to leave for five minutes. 'Don't disconnect, don't stop. I'll be right back and I want to see you come.'

'Mycroft!'

Too late. He got up and all Sherlock could see was the empty chair. He counted minutes and lazily tagged at his shaft. Without the audience, he became aware of how uncomfortable the bed was and how much he wanted to take a shower. After ten minutes of extra slow wanking, he realised he was getting cold and pulled the covers over his body. Another ten minutes and he stopped touching himself altogether.

Nearly an hour later, Mycroft finally decided to come back. Sherlock was texting John.

'You took your time.'

'Tell me, how was Karachi?' Mycroft's voice was ice cold.

Sherlock put the phone on the bed, feeling like a child caught with the hand in the cookie jar. 'Hot and dry.'

'We will discuss this when you get back. Now, what did I ask you to do?'


	9. Against the wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, against the wall plus toys plus almost getting caught.

When Mycroft mentioned a plug, Sherlock was certain of two things. First, it was large and second, he wanted to try it at once. To his confusion, Mycroft chose the smallest size. It was insultingly thin and short and smooth. Where was the challenge? Sherlock could easily shove it up his arse without stretching. What he was hoping for was long, careful insertion of a sizeable and rigged plug, a sort of activity that would leave both of them panting and sweating and hot.

Mycroft was amused by his disappointment. 'All in due time, my dear. You are a novice and there's nothing shameful about that. I want you to enjoy it, not suffer through it.'

Sherlock nodded absently. He had already come up with a plan to get rid of the tiny plug. He was going to put it in in the morning, right when Mycroft was about to start another day in the office and text him to collect it after work. Mycroft would the one who was going to be restless all day, Sherlock was going to get a nice fuck and a new plug. Maybe a heavy, steel one.

It didn't go as planned. Sherlock underestimated the plug. Sure, it wasn't long enough to reach his prostate nor heavy enough to feel it with every move, but still, he realised he wasn't going to keep it in as long as he wanted. The physical sensations were subtle at first, a delicate tingling, nothing more. But soon Sherlock realised his rim was more sensitive than he thought. Forced open by the plug, stretched constantly, it was starting to ache. Sherlock was convinced he would keep his composure the whole day and groaned when he absolutely _had_ to reach between his legs and gently massage his rim. Just with his fingertips, rubbing around the base of the plug. He curled on his side on the bed, his hand between his cheeks, thinking how much he wanted Mycroft's tongue to replace his fingers. He was still wearing his pyjamas. He was supposed to be fully dressed when Mycroft came in the afternoon and clearly that was not going to happen.

The other obstacle was the knowledge of what he was doing. He couldn't stop increasingly dirty thoughts and the more he tried not to be aroused, the more he was. He couldn't forget about the plug. It was a blessing in disguise that he had no clients that day.

Mycroft smugly texted him after a while to ask how he was doing. Sherlock didn't bother with replying. He got a little carried away and didn't notice straight away that he was humping the bed. He was lying almost entirely on his stomach, moving his hips in desperation. Maybe that was a solution: a nice little orgasm to take the edge off. He rolled on his back and bent his knees, assuming that it'd be more pleasurable to combine wanking with riding the plug. Another text from Mycroft distracted him for a moment and Sherlock had time to rethink his plan. Coming would only make the matters worse. There was no other choice, he rang Mycroft.

He intended to make it sound like he was doing Mycroft a favour by ending his torture early, but when he heard Mycroft's voice, he said in a pleading tone, 'Please.'

He could actually hear Mycroft smile. 'Please what?'

God, he was infuriating sometimes.

'I need your help. Right now.' Sherlock swallowed his pride again and whispered once more, 'Please.' 

'I'll see what I can do.'

Sherlock tried to pull himself together, at least a little bit before Mycroft arrived. He left the bedroom, stopped fingering himself and made an attempt to occupy his mind with something other than the plug. It was hopeless, five minutes later he was squirming in his chair. He didn't stop even when he heard footsteps. Mycroft was in a hurry, that was evident, he didn't comment on Sherlock's state, didn't take off his coat. He simply caught Sherlock's arm, hauled him upwards and said, 'Bedroom.' Sherlock didn't argue. There was no time to lose. They didn't even make it to the bed. Mycroft shoved Sherlock against the wall, between the doors. Sherlock's gasp of approval was loud enough to make Mycroft chuckle. 'I knew you'd like this.'

Sherlock began to wonder if Mycroft planned the whole situation, just to have a desperately aroused Sherlock at his mercy. That seemed likely and Sherlock was more impressed than angry. And above all, he was relieved. Mycroft quickly shrugged off his coat and tugged Sherlock's bottoms off, only enough to bare his arse. There was no teasing, Mycroft removed the toy in one quick move and replaced it before Sherlock could relax.

'Yes, oh, yes,' Sherlock panted, not caring how wanton he sounded. It felt so good, to have Mycroft's cock inside him after the subtle torture of the plug. The air of urgency, the uncomfortable position and Mycroft's clothes rubbing against his skin only added to his pleasure. He didn't try pushing back, content with simply leaning against the wall with his eyes closed and waiting for a glorious climax. He moaned when Mycroft moved faster, both of them were close. It would only take another moment or two for Sherlock.

Mycroft's mouth was suddenly on his neck. 'Maybe you should wear it more often,' Mycroft muttered. 'Ready for me any time-'

Sherlock did want to discuss wearing the plug more frequently just for that sort of exciting and quick fuck and assure Mycroft he would love to repeat it, but Mycroft didn't get a chance to finish his dirty suggestion. Even Sherlock's moans couldn't muffle the sound of approaching footsteps. Someone was coming up the stairs. Someone opened the door to the flat.

'Sherlock!'

Lestrade. Sherlock froze. Mycroft went still. The door to the bedroom was closed, but not locked. Fantasising about getting caught was one thing, having Lestrade walk in on them another. Sherlock made a move to push Mycroft away and pull up his bottoms. He could cover his erection with his dressing gown and listen to what Lestrade had to say.

'No, no, no,' Mycroft crooned and pressed his whole body against Sherlock's back and thrust into him again. 'Where do you think you're going?'

That was insane, Sherlock wanted to say. Lestrade was so close. He could hear them. But he couldn't deny it felt amazing. Thrilling. Mycroft was determined to finish, regardless of the risk. Sherlock was trapped, unable to escape and that thought was almost enough.

'Sherlock?' Lestrade wasn't giving up. A nice murder, maybe. A nice, deliciously complicated murder.

Sherlock whined. He was so conflicted. He wanted both the case and the release.

A hand clamped over his mouth. 'Shh,' Mycroft purred in his ear and carried on. He left the other hand on Sherlock's hip, holding him in place. His thrusts were hard and deep, Sherlock was actually glad they weren't on the bed, the continuous squeaking would be highly suspicious.

'Are you still sleeping?' Lestrade wasn't giving up. 'It's almost noon.'

All of a sudden Sherlock's phone started ringing. Even Mycroft twitched in surprise. Lestrade was calling him. The phone was in the bedroom, signalling that Sherlock was there as well. He pushed back against Mycroft, grasped his hand, trying to free his mouth. Mycroft only tightened his grip and hissed, 'No, I don't think so.' Sherlock's fighting only made him more vicious. He was rutting up into him as hard as he could without making too much noise. Sherlock didn't know if he honestly wanted to get away or if he enjoyed the struggle he was going to lose. Mycroft wasn't going to let him go and he was right, Sherlock was in no shape to face Lestrade. He knew how he looked, flushed, sweaty, hard. And even if Lestrade was blind, there was still the smell of sex.

'Be quiet, little brother,' Mycroft advised when Lestrade ended the call and came up to the bedroom door.

Sherlock didn't need to be told twice. He stopped his thrashing, even held his breath. Lestrade knocked on the door, waited for a response. He was so bloody close, Sherlock's heart was pounding in his chest and Lestrade could probably hear it. And even then Mycroft didn't stop. He slowed down. but still rocked Sherlock's body with his hips. It was maddening. Sherlock imagined what Lestrade would do. Maybe he would join them. The thought of his DI using him in a new way was too much to handle. Sherlock shuddered in Mycroft's grasp, coming harder than ever before. Mycroft was still covering his mouth, now painfully so. Sherlock was beyond caring if Lestrade heard something.

'He left,' Mycroft told him and picked up the pace.

The intensity of his orgasm made the afterglow sweeter and Sherlock didn't mind how rough Mycroft was. He didn't fight him anymore, didn't protest when Mycroft kept his hand on his face. It didn't last long anyway, Mycroft filled him up with a low groan. They stayed like that long enough for Mycroft to catch his breath.

'Now you can follow your pet DI,' Mycroft remarked coolly when he withdrew.

So he was jealous of every man in Sherlock's life. Not entirely needlessly. Sherlock couldn't rule out returning to his surprising threesome fantasy. But Mycroft didn't need to know about that.

'I think I'll call him first,' he mumbled and flopped down on the bed. He definitely needed a moment to recover. 'Maybe it's nothing important.'

Mycroft relaxed and looked like he was considering lying down next to Sherlock. A little bit of kissing and cuddling to balance things out.

'It's all right, I'm fine,' Sherlock assured him. 'You can go.'

'I'm already late for a meeting.' Mycroft stroked Sherlock's behind, making him arch into it.

Sherlock smiled. Even wider when Mycroft's hand connected with his arse in a less gentle manner.


	10. Doggy style

'Late again!' John cried out as he tried to button up his shirt and drink coffee simultaneously. 'God, I envy you, Sherlock. None of your clients bothers you this early. You'll get dressed in three hours, right? Christ.'

Sherlock was just putting on his dressing gown. He started getting up earlier to spend some time with John before he left for the clinic. It didn't matter John was usually too sleepy or late to appreciate his company. He didn't know that could end very soon. Moriarty had to be stopped, one way or the other. Even if it meant Sherlock had to fake his suicide and leave his friends behind.

John managed to take one sip of his coffee, find his phone and get out of the door in less than five minutes. He had a good chance of being on time. None of his impatient patients could wait. They would keep John busy, Sherlock thought, John's hectic job would certainly help him deal with losing his best friend.

 

Sherlock spent the morning more productively than John thought. He had breakfast, took a shower and found a new way of hinting at his hopefully avoidable fake death. Cluedo and Henry Fishguard might not be enough. Sherlock wanted John to wait for him and expect him to rise from the dead.

Just when Sherlock opened the wardrobe door, he realised someone else changed his schedule. Mycroft also wanted to make the most of the time they had left. It wasn't often they had sex in Sherlock's flat, for obvious reasons, making it a real treat.

As Mycroft walked towards him, staring at his naked body, Sherlock thought how perfectly well-timed Mycroft's visit was. He had just showered, John was at work and Mrs Hudson out.

'Please, tell me you haven't had cameras installed in my bedroom,' Sherlock said, annoyed and turned on by the things Mycroft had seen. Experiments... all sorts of them.

Mycroft closed the door and started taking his clothes off. 'If you want me to watch you, all you have to do is ask.'

'I think you enjoy it more when I don't know about you watching me,' Sherlock remarked and sat on the edge of the bed. 'I'm actually glad you're spying on me. Did you like it when the Woman paid her visit?' Sherlock stroked the duvet with his hand and smiled dreamily, pretending he really cherished the memory of Irene in his bed. 'Who knows what would have happened if John hadn't been at home at that time.'

Mycroft tried to hide his burning jealousy. It wasn't enough that Irene ruined his flight of the dead, she also had to flirt with his brother. Mycroft avoided Sherlock's gaze and spent too much time making sure his clothes weren't going to crease before he spoke. 'If you're asking me not to be gentle, you could've used these exact words. Hands and knees, if you don't mind. Your head here, please.'

Satisfied, Sherlock assumed the position and saw his reflection in the mirror door of the wardrobe. 'Oh. You want me to watch you watching me.'

'I know you leave this door open, so you can see yourself when you masturbate.' Mycroft stood in front of Sherlock, nearly nudging his lips with his penis. 'Open wide.'

Sherlock only stuck his tongue out. Mycroft held his face in his hands and rubbed against the tip of his tongue. Sherlock's resistance lasted only a moment, he chuckled and parted his lips, letting Mycroft fill him as deep as he wanted. Sherlock closed his eyes, focused on the hardness sliding over his tongue and into his throat. He wanted to remember this, another beautiful memory to warm him on a cold, lonely night. He doubted Mycroft would leave the country regularly to visit him. Sherlock was going to be officially deceased and all alone, away from London, for a couple of months, only until it was safe for him to return.

Mycroft stepped back and pulled Sherlock up to kiss him. He knew what Sherlock was thinking about and wanted to comfort him. Or it was only a short moment of tenderness before the fucking. Sherlock loved it either way.

 

'Don't look away,' Mycroft instructed and lined up, one hand on Sherlock's hip, the other in his hair, keeping his head up. 'Keep your eyes open.'

Sherlock had been staring at his reflection throughout the preparation. His face and chest turned red, his limbs were shivering, his cock was hanging between his legs untouched. Now it was happening, Mycroft was looking at his reflection when he pushed into him. Slowly, slower than usual. Sherlock knew he wanted to prolong the moment and savour the look on Sherlock's face when he was stretched and filled. One more moment and they were pressed together, as close as possible. Sherlock's mouth dropped open in a quiet moan. He saw Mycroft's fingers digging into his skin. Their eyes met and Mycroft started moving, shifting his angle until Sherlock squirmed and gasped.

Sherlock squeezed handfuls of the duvet and shifted his knees further apart, his teeth worrying his lip. Another moan, louder now. His blissed expression, Mycroft's half-smile, the lust in his eyes, feeling it and watching it at the same time was too much. Every time he looked away, Mycroft pulled his hair harder. Sherlock couldn't move. Mycroft was forcing him to keep his back arched and he had a firm hold on his hip. All Sherlock could do was to watch himself getting fucked, his body rocked forward and pulled back again.

Eventually, Mycroft let go of his hair. He straightened his back, placed both hands on Sherlock's arse. He stroked his cheeks, then spread them. Sherlock leant on his elbows but still couldn't tear his eyes away from the mirror. He knew what Mycroft was staring at. Sherlock's hole stretched around him. The curve of Sherlock's arse, the arch of his back. Mycroft's pace increased enough to make Sherlock whimper. He felt fingertips on his rim, rubbing gently, then a bit harder. He groaned desperately. The tip of Mycroft's thumb was suddenly inside him. 

'I wish I had a camera here,' Mycroft said when Sherlock buried his face in the duvet. 'You look stunning like this.'

Sherlock imagined how exactly he looked from Mycroft's perspective. His cheeks covered by Mycroft's fingers, jiggling with each thrust. A sheen of sweat, a smear of lube and a rosy handprint when Mycroft succumbed to the temptation of a spanking. And finally, Mycroft's cum sprayed out over his arse and thighs. 

Mycroft reached down, slipped his hand under Sherlock's chin and lifted his head. Sherlock saw his post-coital self, reddened and dazed. 'Beautiful,' Mycroft said and kissed his temple. 'Mine,' he added.


End file.
